Of Sunshine and Willow Trees
by Gray-Rain Skies
Summary: AU. Please...let the sway of the willow and the call of the sunshine bring her back. [SoraKairi]
1. Part I

AU setting, Sora/Kairi.

Hope it's okay.

Disclaimer: Nope.

* * *

He'd been late. That was the first thing he could remember, though he tried as hard as he could to remember farther back. School had long since ended, but he'd remained, doing something that at the time had had some importance.

Whatever it was, however, escaped him now.

If he closed his eyes he could recall a swinging of doors, a burst of sunshine, a gust of wind; he'd run across the grass, past the trees lining the sidewalk, further, further, further down. He remembered it all because for four years that scenery had ingrained itself in his mind; such was hard to forget.

Clear as if it had happened yesterday, though, clear as the sunshine he vividly remembered shining on him that day, he'd seen her, and remembered stopping. The sunshine couldn't reach her through the drooping leaves of the _one _willow tree on campus, and in that darkened cradle she slept, one leg extended, other drawn close to her with her knee resting against her thigh, fingers brushing the grass, hair brushing against her shoulders. She slept, in the quiet of the afternoon, and he'd found he couldn't move, torn at the sight of her.

A gust of wind had blown a few bangs from her eyes, and he'd seen a bruise.

No matter the cowardice inside him, he'd wanted to go to her, even if he didn't know her, and ask her why she had that. But his phone rang in that instant, a third time, the _final _time, his mother had threatened as various "yes"-es, and "no"-s, and "I know, Mom"-s were offered as dialogue on his end, and his feet shifted on the grass and he was gone, leaving her behind.

He'd forgotten about her, easily enough. She was only another girl, and nothing important to him.

He didn't see her in his classes; she wasn't _in _any that he had. Maybe once and a while he glimpsed her red hair as she passed him in the halls, or when he was laughing with his friends he saw her doing the same in the lunch room, always self-conscious about some part of her. Sometimes that even made him narrow his eyes at her behavior, and it could've been concern. But still, he didn't know her, and didn't feel anything for her.

She was just another girl.

She leaned against her lockers sometimes, holding an arm and laughing with a blonde girl and a brunette. Throughout the years he saw more of her, so much more that he realized it was because he was actually looking for her.

He'd never tried to speak to her, but he watched over her.

Though, he didn't know why. After all, nothing was in it for him, and there was no point or reason; she wasn't even his girlfriend.

But he couldn't help but notice her nervous eyes wander when she was alone, or the way she'd cover up her insecurities with a quick smile when her friends arrived.

By junior year she always wore sweatshirts and jeans, no matter the weather.

His friends confused his attention towards her with feelings; they said he had a crush on her, was in _love _with her. Such wasn't so.

He didn't know how to love, after all; he didn't believe in love's existence. He couldn't even _care_, because in his mind she really meant nothing to him.

There was just something about her…

He passed her every day, freshman year, sophomore year, junior year, and she was always under that willow tree, asleep, or reading, or listening to music. She'd chew her pencil and do her homework, as well, eyes flicking up at passers-by, eyes always casting nervous glances at the parking lot.

Her eyes were blue, he realized after a time. He hadn't easily been able to discern their color.

In senior year, though, she was in his _AP English _class, and despite her timid appearance he came to know she had quite the fire in her. She had passion, a love of writing, took thrill in debating…her eyes danced in delight when after school ended they dulled in hopelessness. He couldn't understand why, but couldn't even ask when they became partners that year.

But for the first time they talked, and somehow a friendship formed. She'd even smiled at him.

And gradually, day by day, the non-existent heart within him began to beat for the first time, and he felt alive.

He laughed with her in a different way. He didn't talk with her outside of class, because he never saw her, but during the lengthened periods of the one worth-while class he'd ever had, he found himself getting to know himself as he got to know her. She'd tap her eraser on her lip as she grinned at him, asking questions that were hard to answer, trying to figure him out.

She never said anything that wasn't meaningful; Kairi – that was her name – made every_thing_, every _second_, and every_one_…count.

He couldn't understand it.

Where was the point in it? Life let you fall so hard, and the earth crushed you upon impact. Why get up and try again, when you _know _you're destined to fail?

"I'm a failure, you know."

He was as startled as she was at such a comment. They'd been sitting down next to each other for the first time, after school, backs against the lockers and eyes forward, on the wall, saying nothing, only content in the other's presence. He saw her look at him in question, even though he was staring straight, and he merely shrugged, turning his head farther away.

She didn't reply, though. She just touched his arm. He'd flinched at her touch, too, and moved his arm, all the while moving his gaze to look at her. But she'd understood. And smiled.

She _always _smiled…for him.

"It's not failing if you keep going, Sora."

That was what she'd said. He'd rolled his eyes at her, had stood up, and had left her there, not understanding why he was in a bad mood, not understanding why he suddenly felt suffocated in her presence.

Not understanding why such an answer…was not the answer he wanted.

The next day he'd confronted her for the first time outside of class in the hallway, and when she was surrounded by friends, no less. The blonde girl lowered her head shyly, though peered through bangs at him, and she brunette had shifted her weight to the side, hand on her hip and eyes expectant.

"I'm sorry," was what he'd said.

"Don't be," was what _she'd _said.

But he couldn't help it. He ran from her because she'd said the truth, and he couldn't handle dealing with everything he'd believed in crumbling. He'd revealed cowardice to her, a temper, impatience; his flaws.

And yet she touched his cheek once, making his face flare, and had walked away with a smile.

And he had smiled, too, unable to stop.

It was raining when everything had changed, though. She'd had sick days, _many _sick days, a week after that, and then a week after, when she'd returned, sun hadn't shone once. She avoided her friends in the hallways, didn't eat at lunch, and didn't speak up in her favorite class.

"Are you okay?"

She looked away from him, despite the fact that he could see her clearly, sitting across from her. Her gaze seemed hollow, her frame weak.

"Yeah."

She'd disappeared the moment class had ended, and her friends hadn't seen her when he asked for her. But he found her. Under the willow tree.

Where she went to cry.

He stood away from the branches, fists at his sides, anger in him as she hid her face in her knees, hair wet and falling into his eyes. He shouted to her, accused her of giving up, accused her of being the coward _he_ was, and "that isn't you!"

His heart skipped a beat as another sob reached his ears, even when the rain fell so hard and pounded so loud on the ground it was near impossible to hear over the noise. The skies were crying that day, it seemed, and the tree was crying, too, accompanying Kairi in her misery.

She hid from him, that day, but he saw one thing clearly.

Every time he'd glanced at her in passing, he'd felt that something was off. And there was. Her frame and expression did not signify peace, or happiness, or even exhaustion, as she slept under her willow tree.

It was pain, loneliness, agony.

She'd _suffered_.

The blare of a car horn had startled her up, and she'd avoided his eyes to stare down into the parking lot, where the ominous glow of yellow car lights peered through the rainfall at them, hungrily searching them out. She'd mumbled something of an apology, grabbed her bag, and ran, but he'd grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.

She'd been terrified.

"Let me go!" she'd begged.

And, startled, he had. He'd let her go.

She was sick a few more days, or so that was her alibi, and he felt himself growing sicker, too. Her friends didn't seem worried, but he was anxious, kept looking back to her empty _English _seat, wondering if he shouldn't have let her leave. He hadn't wanted to, after all.

He'd been foolish, though. Another one of his imperfections.

Another reason why his parents didn't love him.

Another reason why he hated himself.

_She_ didn't hate him, though. He didn't understand why.

And he wanted her there, so he could ask.

Maybe then the knot in his stomach would ease.

She was back after a_nother _week, and she was a wreck; she was falling behind in her classes and becoming more self-conscious about her movements. She wouldn't let him get closer to her, either, and that hurt him.

And the knot still hadn't disappeared.

She'd tried to avoid him, he knew, but he'd caught up to her, at her willow tree, where she was crying again. And they remained there for a while, saying nothing, him looking at her and Kairi looking away.

An hour passed, and then she'd stumbled to her feet, the obnoxious blare of a horn calling her. She'd tried to swerve out of his way, remembering their last meeting, but he'd stepped in front of her, grabbed her shoulders, and stopped her dead.

"Go a_way_!" she'd cried, tears trailing down her cheeks.

She was pushing him out of her life. But so many people had tried to do that before that he didn't care; he didn't give a damn.

It was bullshit, and she was scared, and he _wouldn't _give up on her.

Everyone had given up on him, before. And he would give _anything _that the same went for Kairi, too.

He pulled her closer, and her eyes widened. And then, desperate for the knot in his stomach to go away, for it was tightening and becoming increasingly uncomfortable, he lowered his head and captured her lips, not setting her free.

Because his freedom would lead to her prison.

She'd pushed away from him, panting, eyes confused and shoulders shaking, but the rejection didn't hurt. He knew she didn't care for another; she just didn't know how to deal with affection.

They were one in the same, after all.

"I need…to go," she said, looking away from him.

"Come back to me, then."

She hadn't answered him. She'd just pushed him aside and covered her face, crying all the way to her car. Only then, as the rain dripped continuously on his head – slower now, the storm giving in – he let his shoulders fall and the hopelessness of it all sink in.

She would never trust him, he knew that. She _couldn't_ trust him.

The very people who were supposed to love her _beat _her, after all. Where was the right in that?

All along, every year from sixth grade on, Sora had stayed away from people, because love, companionship, and long-lasting friendship were concepts he didn't understand. His father hadn't wanted him, his mother had died, in he lived in a household as cold as the rain sliding down his neck. Gruff words, casual glances, conversations escalating into fights…

He'd had enough of the hurt. So he'd shut himself down.

Her glimpse, under the willow tree that day, had sent a shock so painful through his body he hadn't understood it. Until now.

That was reality calling to him, telling him it was time to wake up and see what life had given him. It was his chance…to find acceptance.

In her.

And the thing he had been avoiding, because he hadn't believed in its existence, now made his heart race in fear and tears slide down his cheeks as she was driven away from him.

He loved her.

And he was so afraid of losing her.

Kairi…had been the only one to smile at him with com_plete _sincerity.

The rain kept dripping on him, running into his eyes, soaking his shoes, and making him shiver. He should've run to his car, should've driven home, should've jumped in the shower to forget, like he always tried to do.

But he couldn't.

Suddenly, though, the sunshine broke through in the sky, and he winced sadly and lifted his head, watching as the shower continued to fall, brightened by the new day. The sun that had brought him to her…she'd never been able to feel – it signified hope, after all.

And still, she'd smiled.

It was cold where he stood, and he couldn't bring himself to hope, because hope was gone. But he'd wait, like he never had before, and stay rooted to the present, not searching for the future and forgetting his past.

He'd wait, and wish, that this wasn't the last time, that she'd come back to him, because she'd never _promised _anything.

And he was scared of that.

And so he stood there now, wanting the call of the sunshine and wisp of the willow tree to be more than just a good-bye.

Because his life had just started, and he didn't want it to end…without her.

"I'll…wait for you," he murmured, eyes not to the heavens now, but to the parking lot that had taken her from him. "I'll…love you."

_I'll be there for you, like no one else. Just please, _please _come back. And be with me…_

Forever.

* * *

I do that, sometimes. Leave you hanging. 'Cause even _I _couldn't decide how it should end. So I just decided to end it. Heh. 

I thought this was interesting. Very different from my normal fics. I'd tried to incorporate some meaningful content, though, and I don't know how it worked. Tell me how I did...please.


	2. Part II

Okay, no idea what possessed me to make a second chapter, because I had no ideas whatsoever until just now, but for some reason here it is. (Omigosh, it's haunted!)

-sigh- Yeah, I'm pathetic.

Here's Part II. And there may be one or two more chapters, depending on whether I'm _divinely inspired _or something…-is doubtful-

Still AU. Still Sora/Kairi. And I (still) hope you'll enjoy. XD

Disclaimer: Nope.

* * *

The willow tree became his favorite tree.

After all, if he touched the bark, and if he closed his eyes, she was there, smiling, laughing, telling him to "cheer up and just smile."

Not dig his fingers into the bark and persuade the tears to stay at bay, not suffer because she hadn't come back to him in over a month. She'd want him to be happy, instead of what he was doing now, falling to his knees as his knuckles scraped against the abrasive tree, staring hollowly at the grass as people stared at him and walked by.

But how could he feel this goddamned, _so_-called "happiness" when his heart was in tatters and his body was in pain.

He closed his eyes shut and clutched his chest, shuddering. His heart hurt again.

Why?

Days like that came and went, that not his first experience, that not his last. A dead figure in the halls of a prison dubbed high school, if he so much as caught sight of red hair or thought he heard her giggle he found himself stumbling into some locker, attracting stares as he nearly broke down, his knees weak, his mind racing. And that wasn't supposed to happen, because those feelings were unrealistic, and never _happened_.

Nothing moved him to the point where he was practically dying from agony, practically screaming as he wanted to collapse into tears on the floor. There had to be another reason, had to be another _reason_!

But Riku said…there wasn't. That this was love, and that all his running had just carried him in a circle until he found her.

Sora didn't want to believe, but the truth that Riku was always right kept slapping him in the face.

And it hurt. So…much…

The wisp of the willow. It called him, after days of suffering and studies and failures and disappointments, and carried him back to where the grass was near dead and the earth was soft. The shade softened the blare of the sun that mocked him – as it had mocked her – and he was almost moved to tears, almost let himself cry, every…time…, it was so comforting. But he couldn't. And he didn't.

Because he was a coward, and would forever be one.

March passed, so fleeting after it had taken her away, out of his life. But he didn't welcome the prospect of April, of the flurry of seniors trying to up their grades, of the pressure of colleges and of strained relationships that might not survive the real world. The drama only glanced off him, himself hollow and cold to what kids his age were going through, because it didn't matter.

All his feelings had been swept away on the rain-showered wind, cut off from him entirely when the beams of the sun had touched upon his form. His ties to senior life were severed, and he only glanced at the world through misted eyes, trying to suppress the tremor in his shoulders and anger in his chest.

It was all nothing to him now.

April came to a shuddering stop around the middle of the month, the days pressing on unimaginably slow, for some reason extending. He didn't understand it, but time for some unaccountable reason refused to move at the right pace, and his life became an increased hell, as he had to suffer from more stares and more questions.

What killed him most was when the blonde or the brunette came up to him, asking – or sometimes demanding – where Kairi (oh, her name) had gone to.

Her name, her name, her name, her name…it hurt him so much. He didn't say it, didn't think it, if he could help it.

He'd couldn't even think about finding her, because the very _thought _of her drove him out of her mind. He couldn't even feel betrayal at her, either.

What had he ever been to her?

If only, though, he didn't still taste the kiss on his lips when the branches of the willow tree caressed his cheek.

"You love her," Riku kept repeating.

"And what does that bring me?"

Riku had fallen silent.

Dash happiness. Dash dreams. Dash a life full of small kisses and joyous giggles, dash holding hands and long embraces! Dash all the things he never wanted, that he _now _wanted, and that he couldn't HAVE!

Goddamn her, for giving him a chance and not having a chance of her own. Her stupid selfless heart and compassion for others. It made him feel, and made him feel for her.

He _loved _her.

**So**…**what**…

He couldn't have her, could he?

His house was still frigid, and for that alone he was grateful, actually, for his life hadn't been completely flipped upside down. He was at least able, too, to leave at midnight and walk the streets, head tilted back and eyes on the stars, heart yearning for that hope that the sun was supposed to bring and yet never brought, only scorching him instead. And the cold glow of the moon would be no better, only increased the hollowness and emptiness in him, stretched the heart-ache until his chest seared and his face grew hot.

Grew so hot he had to stop and rub at it, until he realized it was not hot but cold and the searing was tears and he was crying…

He was crying.

And he fell to his knees and he screamed and he screamed and he screamed and he didn't know why, because she was nothing but a girl, nothing but a girl that made his heart ache and only reached out to him like any other person tried to reach out to him.

It was his fault. He'd allowed her to get through, to touch his heart, to soothe his pain. And he touch was gone and so the pain was greater, so great he couldn't bare it, and he was suffering so, _so _much.

Because he loved her.

And he kept saying that, because every time he didn't believe himself, and then it hit him, reminded him of the reason why he hurt so much.

He loved the girl who cried under the willow trees, who didn't feel the sun, who loved without being loved.

And he wanted to hold her and let her know that he did care, he really did care.

But she'd been whisked away by angry headlights and blaring horns, to be condemned in a hell she didn't deserve…

And that he couldn't save her from.

He was such a coward.

Leaning back on his heels, he ran his sleeve across his face and hiccupped, feeling childish, feeling small. And he stood and he turned and he ran, back to his house, back to his room, where the door would lock and he would cease to feel, because he would be caught up in the prison he created for himself to protect himself.

And in that darkness, he would fall asleep…

And wake up to another day without her.

And the vicious cycle would go on and on and on, the days slow, painfully slow, outrageously slow, without her. And he would run to that willow tree every day after school, hoping the ghost of her he saw from a distance wasn't a ghost, wasn't a memory, and was actually _her_, come back, come back to him.

But that was never so.

And he leaned heavily against the trunk every time, eyes cast upward into the endless expanse of branches, yearning for her, and yearning to smile.

She had taught him how to smile again, and he felt so horribly incomplete without her to smile back at him.

"You like this place."

Starting, Sora swung his gaze to his friend, his aqua eyes hard as they focused away from him, silver hair concealing the thoughts there. And Sora gave a slight inclination of his head, following his gaze, looking out at the parking lot. Seniors stood there, laughing, joking, and he wasn't jealous.

Not at all.

"I guess."

"It's not what you want, though."

"No."

Riku nodded, swinging his gaze back to him as Sora turned his head as well. And he tried to crack a grin for Riku, his oldest friend, but it turned into a grimace and he hung his head ruefully, ashamed.

"I hope she comes back."

Sora nodded, hands clenching into fists, shaking. No matter how thoughtless his words could have been, they weren't, because his tone was pained, his voice softened. He wanted her back, too, because he'd seen the effect she'd caused in him, and of course he wanted his oldest friend back.

Of course he wanted all three of them to be happy.

But life was life, and Sora knew that if he ever let go of that willow tree he would start seeing clearly that life, which screamed and screamed that she was never coming back. And he wanted, he wanted, he _wanted _her to come back.

And the tears were burning his cheeks again as Riku rested his hand on his shoulder and allowed for him to cry.

The fourth week was just as slow, the third having barely passed. And he was tormented in every class seat, especially in the class he'd shared with _her_. And he bowed his head, avoided the teacher's gaze every time it switched from her seat to his, eyes overshadowed by his slightly longer brown bangs as he scrawled nothing of importance onto a white-lined piece of paper.

He'd lost the will to work, to pass, to try. And the only reason he bothered to show up, was because of the willow tree, which called his name on the wind and kept him tied to her.

A shudder ran through him, and he was gone at the ring of the bell, feeling ill. He stumbled down the stairs and out the door, raced to the willow tree, and then collapsed to his knees, sick on the grass and the tears started immediately.

Ever since that night, he couldn't stop them.

He didn't move for a while, and then he pushed himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and raced off to his house, away from there, away from memories.

And when night fell, he was walking under the stars again, the romanticism escaping him as the emptiness filled him. And his feet kept carrying him, beyond street signs, beyond houses, block after block after block until he was there, on campus, wondering why he even bothered to try to find comfort.

Eyes down, he trudged across the flattened grass, the feel – which he'd never thought was there – so familiar as he allowed the invisible path to carry him to the willow, the assurance that the sun wouldn't burn him now forever in his mind.

Wearily, he lifted his head, ready to just collapse against the trunk and fall asleep, a long Friday giving into Saturday as midnight fell, until he realized the spot wasn't empty. And he stopped, unable to move any farther, no thoughts running through his mind as he tried to see through the dark, trying not to let himself believe it was her but believing anyway, his heart soaring and his hands trembling.

And then he was walking at an eerily calm speed closer and closer to the tree, and his footsteps had her jerking her head up in fear, that fear so familiar to him. And that she gave a little cry, lurching forward, trying – and failing – to get to her feet. He was running as she fell forward, shuddering on the ground, and then he was lifting her up, to him, careful of her bruises and broken arm as she apologized over and over and _over _again, crying into his neck as he told her to "Shut up, it's not your fault. It's _never _your fault."

And she tightened her hold on him, saying she was scared, that she didn't know what to do, asked him if this was a dream.

And he hoped to God – if there was a God, and maybe there was, if she was there – that it wasn't.

"He's dead," she said finally, after crying so long and apologizing so hard. And he wondered how she knew he knew, exactly, but told her he was glad all the same, and told her he wouldn't hurt her anymore.

She didn't believe him.

But he held her tighter, all the while assuring himself she was there as he assured her that he would take care of her, that he wouldn't let anything hurt her.

And he didn't know if she believed him then. But she relaxed slightly, and looked up at him with the smallest of smiles.

And he felt himself smile at her gaze.

He then lifted her up in his arms, knowing she needed a hospital, because her father had beaten her again – though for the last time, it seemed.

He wouldn't ask, though. In truth he didn't care, so long as he was dead and couldn't hurt her anymore.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, whimpering slightly and causing Sora to suspect one of her ribs might have been broken, too.

He looked at her weakly, and then finally allowed for a real smile in the longest time to shine on his face. And she laughed softly, until her sides protested and she was crying against him, cringing in pain.

"I love you," he said softly, drawing her gaze back to him, her eyes wide and fearful.

"I…"

"Don't," he said softly, leaning against the willow tree as he held her, holding her closer. "You have all the time in the world."

She bit her lip and tried so hard to raise her arm, to touch his face, to show she cared, but her side protested and she whimpered again, drawing closer to him. And he pushed off from the willow tree, pain easing with every step he took, his being not so empty any longer.

The willow had brought them together again.

And maybe, one day, they'd feel the sun together, would see the hope both had been denied for so, so long.

And they would learn, maybe, what it was…to love.

* * *

Yes, it was a stupid ending. -stabs- I can never end stuff. 

Anyway, maybe you like it? I can always delete it and leave it as it was, if this ruins the whole fic. -nods- So, tell me your opinion, please! And thanks for reading.


	3. Part III

So, yeah. You guys have forced me to continue this story. (Haha, kidding)

At any rate, here's Part III. Enjoy if it's possible.

Whoo, special thanks again to Rachael (**tyco622** to all of those on this website who want to read a really well-written HarryGinny oneshot), who beta'd and saved from catastrophe yet another one of my works. Love you, Rachael!

Disclaimer: Nope.

* * *

As childish as always, he'd thought it would be easy. 

As naïve as always, he'd thought that what they had would only develop.

As stupid as always, he was wrong.

She stared oftentimes into space, seeming as if she was falling from reality, as if she was trying to escape the world around her. When in the hospital, her eyes never moved from the window, and she never shifted once to glance at him, never offered even the weakest of smiles to try to lie for herself and say she was okay. And she wasn't, of that he was sure. She was detached, aloof, and all the other pretty words used in their English class to describe being set apart, to describe running from the world and its surroundings.

But he could find not even in the smallest section of his heart will to blame her for her actions. Her very life had been turned upside down, to say in the _smallest_, most _insincere_ description of her situation (and yet the only way he knew how to describe it). He couldn't fully comprehend it, after all.

The only wish he had was not for her to love him, but for her to not look so lifeless, so ready to die.

She wouldn't even let him touch her shoulder, the thought of any physical contact making her cringe and shy away, under her sheets and away from the world.

He'd given up on even weak smiles by now.

But he kept coming. The passing week, when she was dispatched from the hospital wing wrapped up and in a sling, the graduation he never (same as she), went to, on and on and on he kept coming, being there for her, no matter the countless times she slammed the door in his face, the wild yet apologetic look present in her fear-filled eyes.

Still, he was human, and he often collapsed on his knees in frustration and anger at the base of the willow tree, fingers digging, digging, digging into the earth, cries stuck in his throat and teeth gritted so tight.

He'd wanted her to open her eyes, to give a little laugh and reassure him with a smile, to say "I love you" and mean it, so they could be happy. But she hadn't turned those blue, blue, soulful, sorrowful, beautiful eyes on him once – unless she meant to slam the door without a word in dismissal to his arrival. He hadn't seen her smile in an eternity or two, hadn't heard her laugh in so much longer. And those "I love you"-s, those displays of affection he'd never wanted before, were now not even a possibility, because she looked at him as if she didn't recognize him, as if she thought he'd _hurt _her.

How could she?

He could she betray him? How could she turn her back on him? How could she stand there and peer back at him as if he were nothing to her, had never been anything to her, as if his very presence made her skin crawl? How could she _regard _him as though he were _less than dirt_?

How…how could she…how could she not love him…when she'd promised – oh, she'd _promised _– to be there?

H-how could she have changed? People…didn't change. She'd said that. People didn't _change_!

Especially not the girl with the darker-than-sky blue eyes, those rainstorm and thunderstorm and cloudy-blue eyes that were as gentle as a sun shower and kind as a summer breeze. Not the girl with the rosy red lips that quirked up in mirth when a friend said a joke or he stumbled over his feet when only she was around. Not the girl with the russet-colored hair that caressed her beautiful pale skin, that moved her hands in such an achingly sweet gesture over his cheek when he was fighting the urge to scream and tear things apart because his mother had been so selfish as to die and leave him with his bastard of a father. Not the girl whose heart was so full of love that it was un_fathomable _that that love could just disappear like wisps of smoke, seeming never to be there at all.

No. He refused to believe it. He _refused_ to lose her again. Because he couldn't _stand _to lose her again.

She was everything he had now. All that he wanted. Maybe all that he'd _ever _wanted.

She couldn't just disappear.

He was agitated, though. And it was because he knew that every time she shut the door, every time he listened hard and caught her muffled sobs as he collapsed against the wooden barrier, that he wasn't getting through to her, wasn't helping her any. He wasn't helping by just staring at the chipped paint, by running his fingers along the coarse surface, by leaning his forehead against the door. He wasn't _helping_ by closing his eyes and wishing to God – where was he _now_, that higher being? – that she would open the door, drop all the barriers, and let herself be held in his arms so that he could whisper all that he wanted to say into her ears.

But instead he was just _standing there _like an **idiot**, able to do nothing more than wish for her to come back to him.

"Kairi" was always on his lips, as he went through his days, as he was startled back into himself when he saw her sometimes sitting alone on the bleachers – wrapped in that goddamn sweatshirt of beatings and bad memories – at the store picking half-heartedly meals for herself – and only herself – in the streets walking with her head down, eyes on the sidewalk, arms crossed defensively over her chest. And he wanted to call out to her, wanted to take her wrist and swing her around to face him, to grin as wide as he could and try to coax that beautiful sunshine of a smile – the only, _only _sunshine he saw in the now bleak days he suffered by cause of her misery – back onto her face. But he refrained because she would push him away and run, run, run far away from him, and his heart would shred if that happened.

His eyes burned constantly as he forced himself to remove his gaze from her.

He admitted himself to the hospital, too, in the middle of the third week, having broken his fingers upon slamming his fist in frustration into a wall.

But the pain distracted him from the constant agony his heart felt whenever she even so much as invaded his thoughts, and so it wasn't so bad, he decided.

"Kairi, Kairi, Kairi" he murmured, eyes softened in a kind of sadness, not fondness. All he thought of was her, not of Riku, who kept calling to make sure he was all right enough – meaning not depressed enough – that he was there to pick up the phone. No, he didn't think of his friend, his longest, oldest, closest friend, whom he hurt so much because _he _hurt so much, only being selfish and shoving that life behind him. He was so caught up in her, so afraid she would disappear between his fingertips that he forgot, forgot everything, and kept on showing up at her doorstep, stomping his dignity under his feet on her welcome mat – that shouldn't have been there because people weren't so welcome there – as he begged her to open the door.

He was practically on his knees, begging her to open her heart to him once more.

Riku was disgusted.

"Enough groveling."

"I'll be her dog."

Riku pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head pitifully as Sora tried to brush past him, desperate for her. But he caught his arm, held him back – while still standing in his same spot – and shook his head.

"Give her space."

"She had all the space she needed when she left me," he said, meaning to sound angry but instead sounding weak.

"She needs more."

"Well I need her!" he shouted, tears again falling from his eyes as he turned away shame-facedly, appalled that he was crying in front of his best friend against whom he'd always tried to beat and become stronger. And he pulled his arm away half-heartedly, letting both in turn fall to his sides as he stared wretchedly at the cracked sidewalk, the cracks in his heart far more defined, and much, much deeper than those beneath his sneakers.

"I know."

"You don't."

"Give her _time_. The funeral is in a few days. Go there then. But stop being so pathetic."

"I am pathetic," he murmured.

"You are if you keep acting like this."

Sora flicked his eyes to his friend, his oldest friend, his closest friend, who merely scowled back, disappointed. And he turned, silver hair catching the sun he'd only just realized was out, before he strolled easily back down the sidewalk, headed not towards his house but to the school.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, heart twisting at the thought of leaving her be, he clenched his fists at his sides and jogged loyally after Riku, down the street, and to the willow tree…

…the only place where he could think.

And the days passed, each one passing by him as he returned to the willow tree, shaded under the leaves as the heat made him shift in discomfort. Still, the sun wasn't there for him, she wasn't there with him, and so happiness wasn't there in him, and he gazed at the swaying trees with half-lidded eyes glinting with pain. Drowsy, he dozed off those days, waking to the cooler twilight, back stiff and still oddly calm.

The leaves brushed at him every time he stood and left, bidding him good-bye.

It was, indeed, the only connection he really still had with her. And half the time – or most of the time – he dreamed that she'd be there, standing before him, as he _thought _he remembered her, smile on her face and hair stirred by a breeze into her eyes.

He just wasn't sure if that happiness was a memory of her anymore…or just wishful thinking.

He avoided the wake. What was it to him, anyway, other than stiff, old relatives that didn't give a damn about Kairi as they paid half-hearted respects and monotonous "Our Father"-s to a corpse? But he did stroll the sidewalks that night, hands shoved in his pockets as he thought of her, always of her, forever of her.

And how he so missed her.

Riku went with him to the church – so stuffy and hot – the day of the funeral, shifting with a scowl on his face and muttering about "goddamn suits" and "goddamn ties". Sora inclined his head, smiling quite a bit, glad to know his own discomfort in wearing the heat-attracting attire didn't go unshared by others. And he didn't feel any pang of guilt that he was being disrespectful, because he was not there for the bastard but for his daughter…whom that man didn't deserve, that was for sure.

He was sure, while suffering in quiet agony as Riku kept sighing in agitation, that her eyes drifted to his once. His smile, though small, didn't slip once from his face and even a while after that.

Jackets were discarded in the back of a truck and shirts were un-tucked, sleeves pushed back, as they stood side-by-side at the back of the crowd, all walking solemnly to the designated burial area. Kairi, chin held high, jaw clenched tight, walked with a firm resolve, heading the crowd. And his eyes never did leave her, his heart pounding always and ever quickly in his chest.

All he thought of was Kairi, how brave she was, how strong she was, how amazing she was to withstand the monster's wrath as murmurs were said over his lowering casket, and then of how he wanted to spit on his grave as crowds of people cleared until maybe two or three besides Kairi, Riku, and he remained. And then they left – and Riku, too, exchanging a hesitant look between them before walking off. And Sora walked forward, exaggeratedly dragging his steps so he managed to kick dirt into the hole, and stopped beside her.

Silence was heavy between the two.

And he wanted, wanted so, so badly, to be able to say anything redeeming at all to her ears, to show her that "Look? He's there. He's gone. And he'll never come back to hurt you." But he turned his head further away from her, suffering over how much he couldn't help her, how useless he was to her.

"See that?" she murmured softly, after a long, long, _long _time of nothingness between them. And her voice was so beautiful, so soft without her ragged tears, that he wanted to hold her and reassure himself that she wasn't as fragile and breakable as she sounded.

"His coffin," he drawled, lip curling in a kind of hollow satisfaction.

"Soon six feet of dirt and a mile's distance will separate me from that man, and I'll be free."

"You've been free since he died," he accused, tasting bitterness on his tongue.

"Never felt it," she murmured.

"And it's different now."

"Yes."

He turned his head curiously, wanting to know how, _how_ she got this logic because it was no different now that he was buried than when he had died, but his body tensed up at the tears on her cheeks. How could she be crying over _him _of all people, a monster who hadn't appreciated her kindness?

No, no, no! He wouldn't stand it, wouldn't stand for it anymore!

Angrily he moved in front of her, cutting off her sight of his tombstone, of his grave, of everything that represented the death of him, and took her face in his hands, staring into those rainstorm eyes and trying to find the life in them again. Her face paled in horror at his touch, and she cringed, eyes shutting tightly and barring his attempt at finding happiness there. And he was shaking now, frustrated, scared, feeling her slip through his fingertips like water, sliding away, her light and her shine and her love and her laugh all floating away and leaving him cold.

"Come back," he pleaded brokenly, and she opened her eyes, startled.

Choking back a sob, he touched his lips softly against hers, dropping his hands from her face and giving up. If she ran, he wouldn't stop her, because if she didn't even care now that she was killing him on the inside she would never again be the girl he fell for so long ago when _she _ran to the willow tree. She wouldn't be Kairi, and he wouldn't be whole without _Kairi_.

He just couldn't shake the fact that the kiss tasted like tears and blood and cold and bitter memories, all of which stained her lips and stained her heart so darkly.

She pulled away first, but long time had passed, and choked out his name, mouth still barely inches from his. And he wanted to kiss her again, to force her to see that she was cared for, but he pulled away, eyes closed, and bowed his head further, feeling his body shake with a violent tremor.

He'd heard an apology in her voice. He didn't want to watch her leave him.

Soft like the wisp of a willow, a touch so light and fair he thought he'd dreamt it, and he let his eyes snap open and found himself looking into eyes with a smile, the ghost of a memory cracking so his mind could fill with this new image of her. He laughed against tears, taking her face in his, and leaned his forehead shakily against hers, not knowing what to say, what else to do. And her hand remained on his cheek, her apologies flowing and sticking together in a long stream of tears and gasps and whines as she tried, oh how she tried, to make him forgive her.

But he'd forgiven her so, so long ago, under their willow tree.

He let one hand fall as he still cradled her face, murmuring declarations of loyalty, of promise, of hope, of happiness. He never said love, though, afraid that she might shy from him, afraid that she would crumble under the very pressure of such a strange concept and retreat within herself again, away from him.

He knew the burden of discovering love all at once. He'd take his time to show her, with kisses on the forehead, kisses on the cheek, and soft murmurs to fill her ears with imitations of hope until she saw it for herself. He would fill her broken heart and piece it back together, no matter how many years the puzzle took to be completed.

All she needed to do was accept the invitation to that kind of life.

And as she leaned closer, eyes shyly meeting his in a kind of greeting, a kind of friendship, she introducing herself over again – and yet for the very first time – with her eyes and her manner, she slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers, and gave a soft smile.

And that was declaration enough for him.

"Sora," played on her lips, and she smiled a little wider, blushing with the way his name danced on her tongue. "Sora," she kept saying, over and over and over, seeming so innocent, so young, so true…

…and he knew, for certain, that he wanted to show her the sun.

* * *

Epilogue intended. (Unless no one wants it) 

Please Review.


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